


All My Wishes

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Grayson (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Flu, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sick Dick for all your Sick Dick needs, Upset Sherlock, angsty, hey wow I write a lot of fics where people throw up, referenced previous character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 12:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14790731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Dick wakes up sick the morning of a mission with Tiger and is left behind to fend for himself, at least he think's he's been left alone.





	All My Wishes

Dick’s alarm started blaring at 2 in the morning. A screaming, almost techno, beat boomed from under his pillow followed by trumpets and “Katamari Damacy.” He flung his hand at his phone and blindly flailed against the screen, searching for a way to make the noise stop. Usually, he liked to let it blare, driving him up and out of the bed but right now it felt like a drill against his head. 

Tiger all but growled at him, “Grayson if you do not shut off that noise I will throw your phone out a window.” 

“Mmphm,” Dick said, into his pillow, shoving the phone off the bed. It clattered against the carpet but the noise didn’t abate. He groaned and rolled over, reaching for the phone to stab at the stop button. It cut off, and Dick sighed. 

“I do not know why you insist on making such noise your alarm,” Tiger said, flipping on the light. 

The light was like knives shoved into his eyes, piercing and sharp, and aimed for anything vital. Dick pulled his pillow over his face. His head was throbbing and his stomach felt cold and sick. It felt like he hadn’t slept in ages, even though he knew he’d gotten a good six hours. He needed to, it was mission day--or night, or whatever. 

“Do not make me drag you out of bed, Grayson. You wanted the mission to start this early, so you could ‘get it over with’.” Tiger said. 

Dick could hear his partner running water in the hotel bathroom, the liquid splashing against the glass of what he hoped was the coffee pot. Soft footsteps moved back into the room and the liquid splashed against plastic. The rustle of paper, and whatever the pre-packaged coffee grounds were in was comforting in a regular sort of way. Coffee would help, it had to. 

Dick pulled the pillow off his face and sat up, blinking against the light and the pain in his forehead that came with it. His stomach churned, but he put a lopsided smile on his face anyway as he looked at Tiger. 

“Is it that time already?” 

His partner rolled his eyes, already pulling his own clothes from a bag at the foot of his bed out. “You know very well what time it is. Get up and get dressed, we are on a schedule.” 

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Dick quipped and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His vision swam for a second and he sucked in a breath. It was just the odd hour. A weird sleep schedule was all this was. 

He stood and his head felt like it was full of air. Like someone had hooked a nozzle to the side of his skull and pumped in helium. He swayed, tried to breathe, and fell back to sit on the bed, his head in his hands. 

“Grayson?” 

“Mmm fine.” He mumbled, “Just give me a second.” 

He must have taken longer than a second trying to clear his head because a hand brushed against his forehead and Tiger said something that sounded like a swear.

“Idiot. You are burning up. Why did you not say anything?” 

“I’m fine.” Dick pulled his head up and swayed again, “I was fine last night. It’s just a cold or something. I’ll be--”

“You will stay here,” Tiger said, stepping back. “I will complete the mission and you will rest.” 

Dick shook his head and had to stop, his eyes felt like they might shake out of their sockets if he kept moving, “You can’t go alone.”

“You will get us killed if you leave.” Tiger snapped, then he sighed, “I will inform Matron, and see if the hotel has any medical supplies. Can you hold out the few hours I will be away?” 

“I’m not going to--” Dick tried to stand, but his stomach lurched with the movement. He dove for the trash can, he tumbled from the bed, hit the carpet on his knees and lost the little remaining of his supper to the can. His chest ached, his lungs burned torn between breathing and locking up as he lost his lunch. He emptied his stomach and dry heaved for almost a minute before the urge was gone. 

When he could breathe again he sat back, leaning against the bed. His stomach hurt like he’d turned it inside out. A towel was pressed into his hand. Dick took it gratefully. 

“I’ll stay.” he said, wiping at his mouth, “But if anything happens, call me.”

“I will call backup, but not you.” Tiger said. 

Dick sighed, it was as much as he could ask for. Tiger helped him back into bed and he curled up under the somewhat scratchy sheets and pulled them against his chin. He stomach felt marginally better after throwing up its contents, but he wouldn’t lie. He was happy he didn’t have to sneak anywhere or try to aim a punch. 

Tiger returned after a few minutes and dumped a pile of medicine on Dick’s bed, a particularly hard bottle bounced against his knee and Dick winced, “I could have gone down myself?” 

“I did not know what to get so I got it all. Matron will reimburse you.” 

“ _ Me? _ ” Dick asked the word a wheeze that turned into a series of coughs.

“I will get water as well and then I will leave. They have room service if you need anything else.” Tiger said and was gone again. 

Dick caught his breath and started sorting through the pile of boxes and bottles. Tiger had grabbed everything from general pain medication to children's Motrin. Why he’d thought Dick needed that he wasn’t going to ask. He sorted them by what it fixed and then stared unknowing at the pile. He could take the medicine for colds, or for upset stomachs, maybe the one for coughing, but he wasn’t sure. 

Google. He decided to do the thing Alfred always told him not to do. The thing Tim made fun of people for doing. He googled his symptoms. He was going to google his symptoms, but his phone was still showing his alarm music. Damian had set it. 

“So you will not forget the name of my favorite game again.” he had told Dick when he swiped his phone. “And so you will remember to order the new one when it comes out.” he’d added giving Dick a sly smile. 

Dick’s chest hurt, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from whatever bug had caused him so much misery already. He had heard the statement for what it had been. ‘So you will not forget me when you don your Nightwing costume once more and leave my side.’ How Damian could ever think Dick would forget him was pure foolishness. He would never forget his baby brother. 

The tightness in his chest spread and Dick pressed the phone close to it, squeezing his eyes shut. What he wouldn’t give just to hear Damian’s voice again. Angry or happy. It didn’t matter. It would mean he wasn’t buried six feet deep with a gaping hole in his chest anymore. 

“These should keep you until I return.” Tiger’s voice forced Dick out of his own head. 

He looked up and attempted a smile. Tiger had his arms full of water bottles like he was expecting Dick to chug them all in the five or six hours he’d be gone.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice rough. 

His partner frowned, “If you cannot manage a few hours, perhaps I should call Matron.” 

“Aww Tony, I didn’t know you cared so much.” Dick said, then added “I’m fine. I mean, I’m not, but I’m okay enough to survive a few hours mission time.” 

Tiger’s frown turned into a scowl, and he crossed his arms after setting the armful of water bottles he’d collected on the nightstand beside Dick’s bed. “If you are well enough to tease me then I should not be worried at all.”

It only took a few minutes after Tiger left for Dick to fall into an uneasy sleep. He didn’t bother with any of the medicine beyond mixing an Emergen-C into a water bottle and taking a few pills for the budding headache he had. 

He woke freezing, and thought at first it was the sweat he was soaked in, but when, after tearing off his shirt and pulling on a clean one from the duffle by his bed, he found no relief he started to think it was something else. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and curled into a ball. He felt like death. And he knew what death felt like. It was his body beaten and sore, drugs addling his brain, and a need for his dad. 

But Dick didn’t have Bruce this time. He didn’t have Bruce or Damian or even Tiger’s scowl.

He pulled the blanket closer to his chin and wished for his dad. Wished he hadn’t made this stupid deal of little to no contact beyond calls initiated by Bruce. Wished he was home so Alfred could bundle him up and feed him soup while Bruce brushed his hair back and found ice packs for his fever. 

On his dresser, his phone buzzed. Dick reached an arm out and blindly grabbed it, tugging it so it was as close to under the covers as he was. The light made his head hurt, but he didn’t have to look at it too long. It was from Tiger and longer than Dick expected it to be:  _ Mission extended. Don’t die while I am away. _

He groaned and shoved the phone under his pillow, then peered over his blankets to look at the dim shapes of the medicine Tiger had left. His ordered clumps had turned into a messy pile while he’d slept. He managed to dig out the flu medicine, deciding that was the closest to how he was feeling and took more than the recommended dose. He downed half a water bottle trying to chase away the taste of the medicine before burying himself back under the blankets. 

He stomach was sick with the added medicine. His throat burned, heartburn teasing its way up his chest. His head hurt. He curled a little tighter in on himself. He wanted to sleep. He was too cold. Why couldn’t he warm up? 

Dick pressed his eyes closed and willed himself to sleep again. Thirty seconds later he rolled out of bed in an almost fall, his abused knees bruising against the carpet, protected at least this time by the sheet he’d dragged with him. He just made it to the bin before he upended the water and his medicine into it. He wished Tiger was back to help him wash the bin out. He wished he had someone to tell him he wasn’t dying. 

He wanted to curl on the floor and instead pulled himself back into the bed. The sheets and comforter were a mess, but he didn’t have the energy to do more than pull them into an almost cocoon around himself. 

The next time he woke up the room was dark and he was on fire. His body felt like a furnace, the blankets suffocating. He was pretty sure his fever was worse, but he didn’t know where the medicine was any more or even what he should take. He’d probably just throw it back up again anyway. 

He whimpered, pushing at the burning blankets. A hand pressed against his stilling his actions. Dick didn’t have a clear view of the hand, but a “Shhh” was deep enough to make him think Tiger had returned. 

He stopped bothering trying to ask a question when a cold rag found its way to his forehead. He closed his eyes against the feeling and sighed. A second rag dabbed at the water dripping down his temple. 

Dick let the figure adjust the blankets over him so they weren’t suffocating him, but pulled halfway down his chest leaving just the sheet. He breathed in deep and incited a coughing fit. He rolled over, curling against his aching chest, and the hand rubbed his back in soothing motions. 

He must really look like crap if it moved Tiger to be so caring that he was trying to sooth Dick. He caught his breath and mumbled thanks. A hmm was Tiger’s response, and Dick smiled. He wasn’t so worried he was talking, that at least was good. He rolled back over, sad he’d knocked the rag off. He lifted it to replace it on his forehead but the hand took it. His fingers brushed callused ones that seemed almost too big to be Tigers, but they were familiar all the same. 

He tried to blink his vision clearer at the figure, but they were moving away to wet it again. The water in the bathroom running again. Then Dick heard the clink of water rung out and hitting the porcelain of the sink. 

He was tired, too tired to worry too much about the discrepancy with the hands by the time Tiger returned. It had to be him. Very few people knew where they were. Besides, Dick’s fever was probably making him see things. 

The rag felt as amazing as it had at first. 

The light in the bathroom was still on, and filtering into the room, illuminating a figure larger than Tiger. Broad shoulders, and floppy hair longer than Tiger liked his cut. Gentle fingers brushed Dick’s sweaty bangs from his face, moving down to cup his cheek. 

“Rest, I’ve got you.” The deep voice murmured. 

It was Bruce’s. That rumble was all his dad’s. The fever had at least given him this. Dick smiled at him, his heavy eyelids already slipping closed. 

“I wanted you to come.” he yawned, and the thumb caressed his cheek, lulling him finally back to sleep.

He fully expected Bruce to be gone when he woke up. Expected the fever dream to have morphed his father back into Tiger, but the figure at his bedside was still that of the man who’d raised him. 

Eyes down on Dick’s own phone, Bruce was preoccupied when Dick began to stir. He was chilly but not cold to his bones like he’d been before. The cool rag was gone and he wondered how long he’d been out. 

Or Dick had thought he was preoccupied. A moment before Dick thought to tame his tongue, thick with thirst, Bruce spoke. 

“Your friend is further delayed. Though it doesn’t seem he blames you for not being there. He’s repeatedly reminded you not to die.” Bruce’s mouth quirked into a smile at that, the one he used to give Damian when he said something rude that meant he cared. 

“I’ve told him you haven’t died yet and sent a volley of smiling faces so he thinks it’s you.” 

Dick grinned, “He’ll hate that.” he said or tried to, but his voice was like sandpaper rough and too quiet unless he strained it. 

Bruce frowned at him and helped him sit up, pressing a bottle of water into his hand. “Drink it slowly. You threw up twice when I tried to give you medicine.” 

Dick frowned, “Twice? When--”

“The fever had you pretty out of it,” Bruce said, hand straying against his wrist, fingers quickly checking his pulse. 

Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the worry and opened the lid of the bottle, Bruce had already broken the seal for him making it easy. He drank slowly, the water like-well water to his parched throat and mothballed mouth.

“You’re not a fever dream right?” he asked, his voice stronger now, “The last firings of my brain as it fries in my skull because I’m crap at going to the doctor?” 

“I suspect you’d be dreaming of being anything but sick if you were about to die,” Bruce told him. 

Dick hummed, “Probably.” He figured he’d see his parents and Damian, waving him home-kind of like he had in those moments between the pill Luthor had shoved down his throat and the shot of adrenaline that had jump-started his heart back into action. 

Tears pricked his eyes. “I wanted you to come,” he said, hand reaching for Bruce’s. “I wanted you here so bad.” 

“I’m here now.”

He turned his head so fast he felt dizzy again. He wasn’t better by any means, even if he could hold down a little water. His throat was thick now, and he hated the idea of crying and dehydrating himself further. 

“I don’t think you are.”  he searched Bruce’s face for some sign he was right. That the fever was still raging, lying to him. Giving him one of the things he wanted. 

He ignored the little voice that said it would probably give him Damian back too. 

Bruce squeezed his hand and interlocked their fingers. His other found Dick’s hair, tucking a curl behind his ear, “To tell you the truth, I planned to be here. You told me about the mission and I wanted to see you when it was done. We-” Bruce stopped pressing his lips together, “You’ve been alone too long. I needed to visit.” 

The tears slipped out anyway and Dick’s chest caught on his words, “You didn’t give me the flu did you?” he choked, trying to make the joke stand. 

That familiar callused thumb brushed one of his tears away, “No.” 

Dick nodded and let himself lean forward, his face pressed into Bruce’s chest, “Okay.” he said. “I believe you.” 

He gripped at his dad’s shirt, afraid to wrap his arms around him, “You’ve got crap timing though.” 

Bruce chuckled and wrapped an arm around his back, and hummed, “I think it was alright.” 

Dick sniffled and let himself breathe in the smell of Bruce. From his dad’s aftershave to the lingering scent of Alfred’s favorite fabric softener it was all Bruce. He squeezed Bruce’s shirt tighter. 

“You came.” 

Now Bruce did hug him, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Dick was sure he was going to disappear in that moment. Everything he’d wanted having been given to him. Instead, Bruce pulled back and cleared his throat. 

“Do you think you can keep down some soup? The kitchen has chicken noodle, and I think I can convince them to make it in place of breakfast.” 

“It won’t be Alfred’s,” Dick said, “But if you stay with me, I’m sure it’ll do the trick just as well.” 


End file.
